


The World Is Turning (In a Different Direction)

by finkpishnets



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The girl smiles, bright and wide and Spencer thinks ‘oh.’ AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The World Is Turning (In a Different Direction)

**Author's Note:**

> For the au_bingo prompt ‘Other: Genderbent’.

Spencer’s somewhere outside of Paris in a little, French village that smells of fresh bread and honeysuckle when she hears her first American accent since she left the airport, duffle bag over her shoulder and phone turned off.

“Um,” the girl in the red t-shirt is saying, waving her hands around enthusiastically. “Vegetarian? No meat? Shit, where’s my guide book.”

Spencer can see the smile pulling at the elderly Frenchman’s mouth, and he catches her eye when she walks towards them, winking. Spencer wants to laugh, is half tempted to leave the girl flailing about, but she doesn’t _seem_ like the average, ignorant tourist, and perhaps Spencer’s just in a good mood today or something because she stands next to the girl and shakes her head.

“It’s ‘végétariens’,” she says when the girl turns to look at her with wide brown eyes. “You don’t need a guide book for that.”

“Oh,” the girl says, blush rising furiously up her cheeks, and Spencer’s suddenly aware of just how _pretty_ she is. “Sorry! Désolé!”

The old man laughs, his face soft and friendly and points towards a small café down the street, it’s exterior weathered and beautiful, before going on his way, his chuckles following him up the hill.

“I feel like a complete idiot,” the girl says when he’s gone, and she sounds so distressed that Spencer can’t help but nudge her gently.

“Come on,” she says, “I could eat, and we don’t want you embarrassing yourself even more.”

The girl smiles, bright and wide and Spencer thinks _‘oh.’_

“Thank you,” she says earnestly, “Seriously, _thank you_. I’m Brendon, by the way.”

“Spencer,” she says, and Brendon grins, walks too close and begins to talk and talk and _talk_ like it’s been a lifetime since she’s been around another human. It’s a familiar feeling, and Spencer finds herself listening to it all, feeling the edge of homesickness that’s begun creeping into her skin seeping away.

 

+

 

Paris is not what Spencer had been hoping it would be when she’d arrived with nothing but a few items of clothing and her credit card. It’s mostly damp and overly busy and everything’s too spread out. The first time she’d taken a taxi to the Arc de Triomphe she’d thought she was going to die, and she doesn’t think the driver had been too impressed with the way she clutched the back of his seat desperately either.

She feels pretty stupid for holding on to some naïve, romantic ideal right about now, especially when it wasn’t even her own to begin with, so packing up what little luggage she has and catching the Eurostar to London isn’t really a hardship.

London is just as cold and damp but there’s something about it that makes her feel like she’s just one more person in the crowd searching for something _else_. The throng of people feels less like a cage and more like an escape as she wanders through the city, huddled inside an ‘I ♥ London’ hoodie she’d bought less as a statement and more as a necessity when the temperature insisted on dropping on impulse. The part of her that’s still stuck in Vegas is a little terrified that it could actually get _colder_ , but the bigger part of her, the one that got on a plane without anything more than leaving her mom a vague note, thinks it’s pretty fitting.

Spencer does all the touristy things, ignores the stares she gets for always being alone, and finds that she’s very almost happy here.

 

+

 

Spencer’s wandering through Trafalgar Square, trying not to walk in front of any cameras and accidentally end up in somebody else’s picture, when she sees a surprisingly familiar face.

“Spencer!” Brendon says, bright and happy when she looks up, and Spencer can’t help but return the smile.

“Hi,” she says, and doesn’t pull away when Brendon hugs her, her body warm against Spencer’s. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” Brendon says, “waiting. Did you know that if Big Ben ever strikes thirteen the lions will get up and walk around?”

Spencer blinks. “Um, no.”

Brendon nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Anyway, I thought I’d wait a while, just to see.”

“Right,” Spencer says. “Okay. How’s that going for you?”

“Nothing yet,” Brendon says, but she doesn’t look particularly disappointed.

 

+

 

They go for dinner, a little restaurant that Brendon points out, pulling Spencer along by the arm like they haven’t only met twice, and the food’s more than good.

“So,” Brendon says, when their mains have arrived. “What’s got you travelling around Europe solo?”

Spencer feels the familiar tightness in her chest.

“Bad break up,” she says, chewing at the bread in her hand and suddenly finding it hard to swallow.

Brendon clearly has no idea about sensitivity or minding her own business though. “What happened?” she says.

“She met someone else,” Spencer says, and notices that Brendon doesn’t so much as blink at the choice of pronoun.

“Ouch,” Brendon says.

“A _guy_ ,” Spencer says, and tries to ignore the way her heart begins to ache inside her chest.

“Double ouch,” Brendon says, shaking her head and sipping at her coke.

“How about you?” Spencer says, and Brendon winces.

“Had to get out of my house,” she says, with a too-casual shrug, and Spencer frowns.

“Parents too much for you?”

“Nah,” Brendon says, “I didn’t really get a say in the matter.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, and then feels like an idiot even as Brendon changes the subject.

 

+

 

“Do you believe in fate?” Brendon says from where she’s lying on the grass listening to the happy sounds of a sunny day in Greenwich Park and staring up at the sky.

“No,” Spencer says, and Brendon hums in response. “Why?”

Brendon turns her head, her lips curling into a smile.

“Because I didn’t,” she says. “Before.”

Spencer can feel the blush rising up her neck but she smiles back anyway.

 

+

 

“Spencer,” her mom says when she finally calls, and she sounds sad and hurt and far away. “Spencer, please come home.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Spencer says.

“Ryan was here the other day,” her mom says eventually, “asking after you.”

Spencer squeezes her eyes shut, tries not to think about Ryan’s eyes and hands and smile, and doesn’t say anything.

“She misses you,” her mom says, and Spencer’s laugh is too bitter against the silence.

“Was Jon with her?” she asks, and she can almost hear her mom’s unhappy sigh across the ocean.

“No,” her mom says. “Spencer, it’ll be alright. Sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes things happen for a reason.”

Spencer wants to roll her eyes, wants to point out that clichés don’t mean a damn thing, but then she thinks about Brendon standing in a French village and watching the lions in Trafalgar Square and her breath catches in her throat.

“Right,” she says. “I suppose.”

“Come home Spencer,” her mom says, one last time, and Spencer doesn’t promise anything but she doesn’t say no either.

 

+

 

“Let’s go to the beach,” Brendon says, when she joins Spencer for breakfast.

Spencer blinks.

“Okay,” she says, and Brendon beams at her.

They catch a train to Brighton, waste more money than either of them can really afford on a hotel room, and spend the afternoon walking along the cobbles and laughing each time the cold sea spray catches them unawares. Brendon tries to build a castle out of pebbles and bemoans the lack of sand every time it comes tumbling down, and they lose all their copper coins on the arcade games at the pier before Brendon decides to pull Spencer down the Lanes, staring at the shops with wide, happy eyes.

When evening falls they eat fish and chips along the seafront, huddled inside their sweaters, and talk about music and films and where else in the world they’d like to go, and Spencer is constantly aware of the way their arms are touching, even beneath layers of fabric.

“Who was she?” Brendon asks when their food is long gone and they’re just sitting watching the waves roll in and out.

“Ryan,” Spencer says, and it’s the first time she’s said her name since leaving Vegas. “She’s my best friend. I’ve known her forever. We were going to start an all girl band, had all these _plans_ , and then she met Jon…”

Brendon doesn’t say anything but her hand slips over Spencer’s.

“The worst part is,” Spencer says, ignoring the bubble in her throat, “that Jon’s actually kind of awesome. And Ryan didn’t cheat on me – she didn’t tell me straight away, but she didn’t _cheat_ on me – so nothing happened between them until after she’d told me she was in love with him, but-“

“But it still hurt like hell,” Brendon says, and Spencer nods, turns her hand so their palms are touching and entwines their fingers.

“My parents kicked me out,” Brendon says, “when they found out I liked girls. Well, that was the final straw, really. I hadn’t been going to church, and I’d started listening to music they didn’t like and hanging out with people they didn’t know, so when they saw me kissing Lisa Bradley in the parking lot of the mall I guess it was just too much.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says, thinking about her mom begging her to come home, her dad hugging her tightly when he’d found her crying in her room after Ryan had left, her little sister’s worried eyes, and she feels incredibly selfish. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Brendon says, and she sounds sad but resigned, like it’s just one of those things and not utterly heartbreaking. “At least now I know that I can do this alone. That I’m going to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Yeah, you really are.”

 

+

 

“I have to go back to the States,” Brendon says as they’re walking to the hotel. “I’m going to college in the fall and I have to start applying for every possible loan and grant and scholarship in the world before then.”

Spencer nods, thinks about her own finance papers still in her desk drawer at home and wonders whether she’ll have time to send them in.

“I should get home too,” Spencer says. “My mom’s trying not to show it but I’m pretty sure she’s actually freaking out.”

Their room is warm and dry compared to the sea air, and they dispose of their shoes and sweaters immediately. Spencer’s thinking about whether to take a shower of just go to sleep straight away when Brendon leans up and kisses her.

It’s just a brush of lips at first, soft and slightly chapped, but Spencer’s toes curl into the carpet. She’s only kissed one other person in her life so this is completely new, and she can only cling to Brendon like an anchor as they fall back onto the bed.

Brendon tastes like salt and sand and the unfamiliar, and Spencer closes her eyes and holds on tight.

 

+

 

They catch a train back to London together, and Spencer doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think Brendon does either, so most of the journey’s spent in silence.

The station’s overly crowded when they arrive, and they find the quietest corner they can. Brendon’s flight doesn’t leave until the evening but she wants to get there in plenty of time to find her gate and change the cash in her purse, and Spencer understands but she still wishes she could hold onto her for a little longer.

“I’m glad I met you,” Brendon says, wrapping her arms around Spencer’s shoulders and holding her tight. Spencer buries her face in the curve of Brendon’s neck and tries to remember how to breathe.

“I’m glad I met you too,” she says, her words muffled against skin and fabric, but Brendon squeezes her like she knows anyway.

The speaker system announces the arrival of Brendon’s train and they pull apart.

Brendon places a soft kiss on the corner of Spencer’s mouth and doesn’t say goodbye.

 

+

 

It’s only after the train is well and truly gone and Spencer’s sitting in an Internet café booking her own flight that she realizes she doesn’t even know Brendon’s last name, that Brendon doesn’t know hers.

 

+

 

Vegas is hot and clingy and familiar, and Spencer doesn’t tell her family she’s arriving, catches a taxi from the airport that drains the last of her funds, but it’s worth it when it gives her an extra moment to catch her breath.

Everything about the house is the same when she walks in, and she’s _missed it_ , she really has, except for when she hasn’t.

Her mom drops the bowl in her hand when she goes into the kitchen, and they both watch as it bounces but doesn’t smash.

“You’re home,” her mom says, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Good,” her mom says, and hugs her tightly until her dad finds them and smiles at them both fondly.

 

+

 

Ryan comes to see her when she’s been home three days. Spencer’s busy sorting through all the letters the college sent her whilst she was away, and Ryan knocks on her bedroom door and waits for permission to enter like that’s something she’s ever had to do.

“Hi,” Ryan says, and Spencer looks back at the paperwork spread across her bed.

“Hi,” she says.

Ryan sits on her desk chair instead of her bed and it’s weird and jolting.

“How are you?” Ryan says, and Spencer shrugs.

“Okay.”

“Your mom said you went to Europe,” Ryan says casually, and Spencer hates that this is what their years of friendship have been reduced to.

“Just France and England,” Spencer says, and she doesn’t have to be looking at her to see the way Ryan’s eyes glaze over with jealousy.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says after a while, and Spencer nods.

“I know,” she says, and Ryan sighs.

“Are we going to be okay?” Ryan asks, and Spencer bites her lip.

“Eventually,” she says after a moment, and she’s pretty sure Ryan’s relieved smile is echoed in her own.

 

+

 

College is terrifying in a way that travelling alone wasn’t but it still leaves Spencer with the same type of thrill. It’s not like she’s far from home, chose to stay in the State for a relationship that didn’t work out (and also kind of for one that’s starting anew), but it still feels like a fresh start.

Ashlee, her roommate, is fun and sweet and introduces Spencer to her boyfriend, Pete, and his many friends, and doesn’t mind her tagging along. Spencer’s classes are challenging enough to be interesting but not so tough that they hinder her newfound social life, and she and Ryan talk on the phone at least once a week which is more than she’d thought they’d manage a couple of months ago.

A month into term she has to face the fact that she’s actually happy.

It’s a nice feeling.

 

+

 

“Spencer Smith,” Pete says when she enters, shouting across the noise from where he’s hanging over the back of the couch. “Ready to dance the night away? Ready to get your boogie on? Ready to party hearty?”

“You throw these things every week, Pete,” she says, rolling her eyes, but accepts his hi-five as she walks by.

“Hey,” Ashlee says when she finds her, passing her one of the few unopened cans of soda on the counter. “How was economics?”

Spencer shrugs and cringes, and Ashlee nods in understanding.

“Oh,” Ashlee says, her eyes catching on something in the other room, “ _hey_ , there’s someone you have to meet! Pete adopted her last week at some music seminar and she’s pretty much awesome.”

“Okay,” Spencer says, letting Ashlee pull her away from the kitchen and into the party, and Spencer’s sort of surprised because Pete’s always adopting new people, that’s just the way he is, but apparently this someone is special.

“Spencer,” Ashlee says, tapping a girl in a lavender hoodie on the shoulder, “this is Brendon,” and Spencer forgets to breathe because it’s _her_ Brendon of the bad French and the walking lions and the kissing.

Brendon’s eyes go impossibly wide, and then she’s smiling, big and bright and wonderful and exactly as Spencer remembers.

“Spencer!” she says, and then she’s laughing and wrapping her arms around Spencer’s waist, and Spencer clings back until she’s laughing too.

“What are you doing here?” she asks when they pull away, and Spencer can see Ashlee’s confused smile out of the corner of her eye, can tell by the way the room has hushed that everyone else is watching too, and she doesn’t care.

“I go to college here,” Brendon says, “I’m a Vegas native.”

“Me too,” Spencer says, and she can’t wipe the grin from her face. “I am too.”

“Oh my gosh,” Brendon says, giggling, and she hasn’t removed her hands from Spencer’s waist, squeezes her closer.

“You two know each other then?” Ashlee asks.

“Yes,” Spencer says, “yeah.”

“Spencer-“ Brendon says. “Wait, what’s your surname?”

“Smith.”

“Spencer Smith,” Brendon says, turning to Ashlee. “Spencer Smith saved me from myself in a small village in France.”

“I did,” Spencer says with a solemn nod.

“And the rest,” Brendon says, “is history.”

Ashlee laughs, and then Pete’s tumbling over the table and knocking over a cabinet with a cry and she turns away, and it’s just Brendon and Spencer and Spencer’s not so broken heart this time, and it’s more than a little crazy.

“Do you believe in fate, Spencer Smith?” Brendon asks, and Spencer thinks about cobbled villages and bright smiles and holding hands and the smell of sea air, and laughs softly.

“I suppose I don’t really have a choice anymore,” she says, and when Brendon kisses her it still feels completely new.


End file.
